


On and Off and On Again

by igrockspock



Category: Veronica Mars - All Media Types
Genre: Backstory, Gen, Pre-Movie(s), the nine years
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-21
Updated: 2014-03-21
Packaged: 2018-01-16 12:12:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1347016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/igrockspock/pseuds/igrockspock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Weevil puts his life together, and watches it fall apart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On and Off and On Again

Weevil's going back to jail for sure. Not tomorrow, or next week. Hopefully not even next year. But there's no way around it: guys like him, guys with too much skill and pride to spend their lives mopping floors and cutting lawns, end up in jail. Sorry _abuela_ , but he's not spending his life begging rich white guys for jobs and biting his tongue when they disrespect him.

That's what he's thinking about when he sees the old guy on a bike stalled out by the side of the road. Ordinarily, Weevil wouldn't stop, but it's a sweet bike and the owner doesn't look like some dipshit having a midlife crisis. 

"You need some help, man?" Weevil asks, and he gives the guy points for not flinching at the sight of a Mexican kid in a leather jacket riding a motorcycle. To make a long story short, pretty soon they're on Weevil's bike together, flying down the highway for a few spare parts. They get the old guy's motorcycle fixed, and then he asks if Weevil needs a job.

Which, yeah, Weevil does need a job. Because mopping floors to keep his parole officer happy isn't really worth it -- especially once you consider that he's gonna snap and beat the shit out of someobdy with a broom handle any day now. The old guy, whose name is Steve, has a bike shop that's not quite in the good part of town, and his assistant just ran off with all the cash in the drawer (which was apparently only eighteen dollars and sixty-two cents, but still, it's the principle of the thing).

Weevil shows up at the bike shop at 7:59 the next morning and hates himself for it. Trying to hard to please isn't really like him, but he figures this might be his only chance at a job he actually enjoys. Better not to fuck it up on the first day.

Steve's already there. Actually, Weevil's pretty sure the old guy _lives_ here, if the pile of blankets neatly stacked by the office chair are any indication. He limps out to meet Weevil in the parking lot, a cigarette dangling from his lips.

"Eli Navarro," he says. "The sheriff's department has a lot to say about you."

There's a moment of silence when Weevil wonders if he's supposed to defend himself, but when he's about to climb on his bike and go, the old guy says, "Good thing I don't give a shit what the police think. You might consider giving a shit about the three strikes law though."

With that, he stubs out his cigarette and hobbles back toward the garage, and Weevil follows along. In the days that follow, they fall into a rhythm: Weevil does his job, and the old guy leaves him alone. Their clientele isn't rich enough to be snotty and not shady enough to tempt Weevil back to the streets. Basically, it's his dream job.

Except that Steve's in trouble. It's obvious that he does live in the shop, and he doesn't exactly eat a lot. There's a guy who comes around every couple of days, usually during Weevil's lunch break. Either he's a dealer or a loan shark, and Weevil's pretty sure he knows which one. It's not hard for him to come up with the cash -- a few borrowed cars, a few fake ID's, a little white powder for the oh-niners with more money than sense. There's a dangerous moment when Weevil tucks the money into his jacket pocket and he remembers exactly how _good_ it feels to earn easy money and play the hero, but no, he's not falling back into bad habits. There's something to be said for not feeling embarassed to tell his abuela where he's been all day, and Steve had a point about the three strikes law.

Of course, giving Steve the money isn't quite as smooth as Weevil planned. He gets that wary look that Weevil's seen in his abuela's eyes, the one that says _I know where this money came from_ and also _I'm too desperate to have a choice_. 

"Take it man," Weevil says. "You think I'm going to do anything good with this?"

Steve nods once, and Weevil tries not to see the defeat in his eyes. Pride''s such a fucking bitch, he thinks, not that he can judge anyone for that particular sin.

Next Friday, there's a letter with his paycheck. It's some kind of legalese Weevil can barely understand, but he thinks he gets the gist of it. He's got a twenty percent share in the shop, and the option to buy another ten percent every year, provided that the money comes from verifiable sources.

Weevil doesn't exactly like lawyers, so he takes the letter to the only decent one he knows. By which he means he waits for Cliff Richards outside his office, then shoves it in his face.

"Is this legit, man?" he asks.

"What? The alleyway ambush?" Richards ask, raising an eyebrow. "I'm going to vote no, not a good way to get legal advice. If you're looking to get shot by a paranoid public defender though..."

Now it's Weevil's turn to raise his eyebrows. "You packing now?"

"Not exactly." Richards sighs. "If you need help with this, let's go up to my office. What was I going to do on a Friday night anyway?"

The interior of the office hasn't changed -- grubby industrial carpeting, chipped paint, and dented file cabinets. Weevil savors the novelty of being here without being guilty of a criminal offense.

Richards doesn't need long to read the letter. "Looks like you've stumbled into a good deal, Mr. Navarro. My recommendation is to sign the paperwork immediately and begin depositing a portion of each paycheck into a dedicated savings account so that you can verify its origin. Do we need to talk about what constitutes a legitimate source of income?"

"No, man." Weevil shakes his head. "I got this."

***

Bit by bit, Eli Navarro becomes an honest man. He learns how to order parts and keep the books. Maybe old habits die hard. Maybe, when he learns accounting, he thinks about how to cheat the IRS. But he doesn't _do_ it, that's the important part. 

One day the most gorgeous girl he's ever seen comes in with the most busted bike he's ever laid eyes on. He introduces himself as Eli instead of Weevil, and when he asks her out, the next thing he thinks is _fuck, I have nothing decent to wear._ He buys a pair of slacks, and it isn't weird. That same year, he owns fifty percent of the shop, and they buy a new sign: Steve and Eli's, it says.

He marries Jade in her parents' backyard. It's a simple ceremony, nothing too fancy -- her parents aren't rich, and it's more important to use his savings to buy the next ten percent of the shop. The next two years, they live on rice and beans and instant noodles, and they manage to scrape together enough to buy Steve out early. He retires to Mexico, and now the shop sign just says Eli's.

It's not a perfect life. When the recession hits, business slows. They'd emptied out their savings when Jade's mom had a heart attack the year before, and there's not much to tide them over. They're back to rice and beans, and sometimes they let the electricity get cut. Even so, they almost lose the house. Still, Eli doesn't go back to the PCHers, even though he knows exactly where to find them. Even though he catches himself practicing the right swagger, even though he knows they'll always have jobs for someone like him. Once he sets up a meeting, but he doesn't go. That's how he knows he's reformed for good, and when he and Jade get back in the black, he whispers, "let's have a baby."

It's a charmed fucking life, and deep down, the part of him that's still Weevil knows nothing that beautiful lasts. Still, when he sees his baby girl born -- okay, actually, he fainted, but don't tell anyone -- he starts to believe what his abuela had always said. He can be a better man than his father ever was.

***

And then he gets shot. His neighbors come to the hospital with flowers and well wishes, but it's his old buddy Arturo who presses a wad of cash into his hand.

"The boys passed the hat around for you," he says. "We don't forget our own."

Eli wants to say _where did you get this_ and _I can't take it_ , but instead he says, "Thank you." He didn't have health insurance; Valentina's day care and dance lessons were more important, and he hadn't exactly planned to get shot by some rich white bitch.

Arturo nods, taking in the flowers the neighbors had brought by. "Don't forget who your real friends are."

When Eli gets out of the hospital, he gets his bike out of the garage. He hadn't ridden since the day Valentina was born, but tonight he needs to go fast, even if he's going nowhere at all.

"You riding again?" Jade asks.

When Eli says "yeah," he can't keep the defiance out of his voice, and he doesn't know which he hates more -- the way he said it, or the way his wife silently nods in reply.

"I think I should tell you some things about my past," he says. This town is no place for anyone like them to have illusions.

When he goes back to the shop, the whole gang shows up and pays him too much money for repairs their bikes don't really need.

"Ride with us," they say, and when Weevil gets on his bike, they fall in line behind him.


End file.
